Set Fire to The Third Bar
by Alias-JoyLemmon
Summary: Story about Edward during the missing months all the way to the phone call. songfic - song of same name, sung my Snow Patrol duet with someone AN:// Are these the right lyrics? I'm not sure. If they aren't, pls let me know!


**Set Fire to the Third Bar**

_Edward during the missing months of Bella's life – how he's travelling, and each mile is getting harder._

_**I find a map and draw a straight line**_

_**Over rivers, ponds and state lines**_

_**The distance from me to where you'd be**_

_**It's so many finger-lengths than I see**_

A map. That's all I could force myself to spend on her – even after so many weeks apart, her wish of me not to buy her anything – including things not fully related to her – still held my hand.

I had a pen of red ink – the pen, a truly remarkable invention. And I a ruler – not that I really needed one.

I placed the ruler down from where I was – the South boarder of Mexico – to where she'd hopefully still be – Fork, WA, USA.

The distance seemed so small on a map, but if my finger measured, it's a lot longer than I anticipated.

Distance means so little when someone means so much though.

_**I touch the place**_

_**Where I'd find your face**_

_**My fingers in creases**_

_**Of distant, dark places**_

I run my fingers across the small black print that read 'FORKS'. A place that I remember – to my dismay – with complete and unfailing accuracy.

A place where Bella still lingers – both there and in my head. In my mind though, it is a dark place, full of monsters that never should have been there, a place that was slowly killing her.

_**I hang my coat up in the first bar**_

_**There is no peace that I've found so far**_

_**The laughter penetrates my silence**_

_**And drunken man finds flaws in silence**_

I'm out tonight – hunting for Vampires, one in particular. But she is not here. She is long gone.

I sit at the bar and the bartender pours me a whisky.

"You look like you need it," he told me kindly at the expression I gave him. His Mexican was soft, lingering.

I nod my thanks and – to my shame – skull it down. Now I'm going to feel a bit funny for a while.

Laughter is all around – its long past happy hour, and only the strongest – or silliest – of patrons are still around.

That laughter penetrates me and my silence.

Silence is flawed, overrated.

In silence, you can think of things that you shouldn't.

_**Your words mostly noises**_

_**Go straight, just voices**_

_**Your words in my memory**_

_**And like music to me**_

The whisky keeps coming, and slowly, it feel its effects.

I can see her now. Her eyes, deep, chocolate brown, her hair like soft down.

I can still here her voice.

"Edward," she uttered I her sleep, that first night. It was so clear, it was as if she was awake and she had caught me.

"I love you," she had murmured just a few weeks after the first time I heard her say my name.

My memory didn't give justice to the real thing, as painfully accurate as it was. Her words, memories now, but are like music to my soul – they keep away my worst daemons.

_**I'm miles from where you are, I **_

_**Let it down on the cold ground, and I **_

_**I pray that something picks me up and**_

_**Sets me down in your warm arms**_

The place where I live is cold, even to me.

For once in my life, I strongly wish I could believe in Angels – so that they could pardon me of this _guilt_, take me back to her arms, her warm, waiting arms.

Where I belonged.

Where _we_ belonged.

_**After all I've travelled so far**_

_**Will set fire to the third bar**_

_**We'd share each other like an island**_

_**Until exhausted close our eyelids**_

Travelling, I decided, isn't for me.

That was the third bar I've set fire to – not that anyone will know it's me.

I ache to go home, to Bella.

To sit on her bed, sit on it it like we used to, like it was out haven, our island.

Until she quietly closed her eyes and slept, and I closed mine eyes and wished I could dream of her.

_**I'm dreaming pink gold bar**_

_**The last place we left off**_

_**Your soft skin is weeping**_

_**A joy you are keeping**_

I remember the feel of her skin – so soft, like rose petals – over mine, even though it's been months – nearly six, so far.

The joy of her, keeping her skin so lovely, so pure, so unadulterated by comsmetics.

So Bella.

_**I'm miles from where you are, I **_

_**Let it down on the cold ground, and I **_

_**I pray that something picks me up and**_

_**Sets me down in your warm arms**_

I can't stand it, I have to hear her voice for myself, to make sure that she is safe. What Rose has said to me can't be true – she would never kill herself, never.

She has so much to live for.

So, bravely, I press those buttons onto the phone.

I can hear it ring.

_**I'm miles from where you are, I **_

_**Let it down on the cold ground, and I **_

_**I pray that something picks me up and**_

_**Sets me down in your warm arms**_

Chaos.

The only word to describe my world now. Chaos.

"He's planning a funeral," the gruff voice told me.

It was simple now, then, really. She had died, so I would have to die.

I couldn't live in a world where I knew that Bella didn't exsist.

So, calmly, I booked a short trip.

To Italy.


End file.
